Page 27 of King of Pride

“You keep looking at my mouth like that,” he murmured, his voice roughening, “and you’re going to make it very difficult for me to behave.”

Rose’s breath caught.

He leaned closer, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath against her skin, his gaze never leaving hers.

“You want to kiss me again?”

The question was barely a whisper.

Rose’s entire face flushed.

Maverick’s mouth curved into a slow, knowing smile as he watched her reaction.

“Thought so.”

He let the words hang between them for a moment before straightening.

“But you’re freezing.” His gaze swept over her flushed face. “Come inside before I give you another reason to forget how cold it is.”

Rose’s heart hammered.

He had seen straight through her.

She glared at him, embarrassed, but Maverick didn't release her. Instead, he adjusted his hold around her and turned toward the house.

Carrying her securely in his arms, he walked through the snow and back toward the house. A moment later, he stepped inside.

Warmth immediately surrounded them.

Inside the house, Oswald Monroe had been standing in the center of the hall, his phone in his hand. His brows were drawn together, and his expression had grown increasingly impatient as he repeatedly glanced toward the entrance.

Rose had been outside long enough.

The longer she remained in the cold, the more his irritation—and concern—had begun to grow.

Just then, Troy hurried toward him.

“Mr. Monroe,” the man said, stopping in front of him. “I looked into what happened last night.”

Oswald straightened, his back snapping upright as he looked at Troy, a deep frown settling across his face.

“What happened? Did Ivan and Rose get into an argument?”

His thoughts were already racing. Rose was not someone who would betray someone recklessly.

Troy's expression grew serious.

“Mr. Monroe, there was an incident yesterday. Ivan slapped Miss Rose because she broke something in his house.”

The words had barely left Troy's mouth before Oswald's anger flared.

The man had never raised his hand against Rose. Ever since her mother had died years ago, Oswald had done everything in his power to protect their girl, and the thought of someone putting their hands on her sent his temper surging.

His frown deepened as he stared at Troy, his expression suddenly becoming frighteningly calm—the kind of calm that hid a storm underneath.

“Say that again.” His voice was low and dangerously controlled. “What did you say he did?”

“He slapped Ms. Rose, sir,” Troy repeated.